Nests

The welling morning of luxurious white and blue
is tinged amber at the intangible edges, in a sky
glowing with pollution, blanketed over faraway Glasgow.
Candy floss clouds churn out along chimneys.
Wisps of silky car fumes form angels floating.
Outwith a rutilant city lies the afterthought of
suburbs, of masses bred together by their
nervous nature. The abraded towns;
all martyrs of megalopolis.

 

Aloft

This old building holds the weight of
every mouth I have ever drunk the truth from.
Every string of my patience plucked
like a harp string, until my fragile instruments
of empathy were snapped.
Music gone wonky and out of tune.
Violent limbs thrashing and foot pedals
of pianos stomped down. Fights and
fleeting apologies in the notes of a crescendo.
I will never go back again.
I am the first one to leave.

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  • Jennifer Greene is a Scottish writer studying English at the University of St Andrews. She has been published for her short stories and poetry nationally and internationally.

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